


Conservation

by Mindful Self Indulgence (ohhaypsy)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/Mindful%20Self%20Indulgence
Summary: It had started because it was cold.One more take on Wedge and Luke sharing body heat on Hoth.





	Conservation

**Author's Note:**

> Coming back to my first fandom. It's been a good long while. 
> 
> Also there was supposed to be a lot more to this but it just ended up as porn. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It had started because it was cold.

The ice of Hoth wasn’t just on the surface. It was a cold that settled into your bones, that no amount of caf or booze could chase away. The base was old and rickety, like so many things in the Alliance, and even when the heating units _were_ working, it was never enough to keep the chill at bay. 

Platonic bunk-sharing was common practice among all but the most reserved. Conserving and sharing body heat was just smart, and you and Luke had only managed an hour in separate beds on your first night before he crawled into yours, seeking warmth. Luke had never experienced cold like this before -- not that you had, but Corellia might as well have been an ice cube compared to the sun-drenched wasteland of Tatooine. You both sleep in your skivvies underneath a mound of blankets, back to back, but silently let your legs tangle together, feet pressed against each other to warm your extremities.

You think you’ll acclimate to the cold, but you never do. Your teeth chatter every time as you scramble to dress or undress, and even spending the past several years of your life on ships and bases with limited resources, you never knew just how much you could miss the luxury of a hot shower. Not that you’d take one even if they were available -- the idea of getting out of one just to step back into frozen hell was enough to make your balls consider retreating back up into your body. 

Strangely enough, out of all of the Rogues, Luke is the one that adapts best to the cold. Not that that’s saying much, the bar is set pretty low. You wonder if it’s _because_ he grew up in such a Maker-forsaken desert, if it made him just a bit hardier than the rest of the squadron who’d been spoiled by temperate homeworlds, yourself included. 

Not that you’d ever begrudge him that. Because you were the one lucky enough to get to keep just a bit more of the blankets. Who got to leech that extra bit of heat he generated. Who sometimes, after being out on exercises, when you were extra cold and exhausted, got an arm around you, pulling you back into a warm chest.

The first time he does it is strange, unexpected and uncomfortable. You don’t know if he’s doing it intentionally, or if he’s even awake, but the shifting of the bunk as he turns over towards you is enough to pull you out of your slow descent into sleep. What jolts you wide awake though, is the creeping of his arm around your waist. Not low enough to be indecent, but intimate enough to make you freeze in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.

If he wasn’t awake before, he is now, his voice a sleepy mumble behind your ear. “You were shivering. Is this okay?”

Your brain misfires for a moment, trying to figure out if this _is_ okay. He’s not wrong; you’d felt like you were going to shake out of your skin. But Corellians are not known for expressing physical affection to anyone outside of family, and it’s one of many ways that you fit the stereotype. Sure, among friends you’re comfortable with backslaps and one-armed hugs, but even your lovers over the years would have never called you _cuddly._

But you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t warmer this way.

You can feel Luke about to pull away, but stop when you take a deep breath and force yourself to relax. “It’s fine.”

He takes your acceptance as permission, tightening his arm around your waist and curling his body around you, knees tucked behind yours, warm breath on the back of your neck.

...Luke is spooning you. Luke Skywalker, Last of the Jedi, Hero of Yavin, your best friend _and_ commanding officer, has made you the little spoon. And has fallen right the fuck back asleep.

It’s warmer and more comfortable than you’d like to admit.

Besides, you can’t be the only ones. Half of the assigned bunks go unused, and you doubt most people have the same sort of inexplicable hang-ups about physical intimacy that you do. Wes and Hobbie are practically the poster boys for sharing body heat, unabashedly sleeping in a pile of tangled limbs like a pair of puppies. Hobbie complains about Wes snoring in his ear while Wes recounts a tale of awkward morning wood while laughing. And then the both of them proceed to flirt with an attractive female comms officer.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s common. Expected, even. But lying in bed with Luke curled around you causes a churning feeling deep in your abdomen, and you’re scared to examine if it’s good or bad.

Especially considering how it increases despite finding yourself more and more comfortable with Luke’s arm around you. Before long, the two of you don’t even bother to start off back to back. You crawl into the bunk first, and Luke slips under the blankets after you, immediately slotting his body behind yours. You’re the one to pull his arm tighter around you now, sometimes resting your head on his opposite bicep instead of your pillow. You curl your knees up and he curls tighter around you, enveloping you, despite the two of you being more or less the same size. And even with the turning over of your stomach, you sleep easy. 

It’s not about warmth anymore. It’s about comfort. 

Which is why even though your heart begins to race when Luke’s touch gets a little bolder, skimming over your thigh or gently gripping your hip, you find you don’t mind at all. Quite the opposite, really. But he’s always hyper-aware of your comfort, and you’re not sure if it’s because of his Force-sensitivity or just because he knows you so damn well. He stops any time you tense at his touch, always asking, “Is this okay?” And patiently waiting for you to relax and respond with, “It’s fine.”

One night, after a long day working on the fucking snowspeeders, _you_ get bold. Luke’s thumb is idly brushing against your stomach, just firm enough to not tickle. After half an hour of silent debate with yourself, you turn over. Luke’s arms begin to pull back reflexively, but you slide forward to press against him. _Your_ arms around _his_ waist, _your_ face against _his_ neck.

Luke hesitates, as if unsure of what to do when faced with a suddenly clingy Corellian, but then lets his arms settle around you in a loose hold. “Is this okay?”

You breathe deep and tighten your hold around him, a small, faint hum escaping you when he returns the gesture. “It’s fine.”

It becomes both of your preferred sleeping position, though you still often enjoy him wrapping around you from behind. The twisting sensation in your gut is still there, but it’s settled firmly into oddly pleasant, rather than uncomfortably nerve-wracking. You get more confident in taking initiative, your leg sliding over his, your hands skimming over his skin. Your fingers often find the warmth at the back of his neck, and you watch him shiver from your cold touch. He retaliates by slipping his fingers between your legs, just above your knees. You flat out yelp the first time, his fingers like ice, and try to squirm away. But it quickly becomes one of your favorite things, and you press your legs together to warm his hand.

That’s where his hand is tonight, the two of you under the blankets, his body positioned behind you and his other arm under your neck, wrapped around your torso as though he were your safety harness. Sometimes it feels like he is. For your part, you’ve got your arm slung back behind you, idly stroking his thigh in the same rhythm as his thumb sweeping across yours.

You’re drowsy, but not quite dozing, and it takes you a moment to register that his hand is moving up your inner thighs. You realize its trajectory just as it hits its target, firmly but gently cupping your cock.

Your breath hitches and your hindbrain is idly grateful that he warmed his hand between your legs first.

He’s tense behind you, and you can feel him swallow hard before speaking, his voice a whisper at the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” You hear nervousness in his voice and want to laugh at the absurdity of it. In your time knowing Luke, you’ve learned that he’s definitely not the wide-eyed, naive innocent most people pin him as. On a backwater planet like Tatooine, and even then out in the boonies, the only recreation to be had was apparently to go up to Anchorhead, get into trouble, and fuck around with other youngsters caught in moisture farm limbo. According to Luke, no one actually dated each other, “we just took turns.” And those turns included men and women, to your surprise; Luke had a story or two about Biggs that made a few jaws drop and Wes howl with laughter. Luke had shrugged and explained that there really weren’t enough of them to be all that picky.

But here he is, Luke ‘Apparently the Anchorhead Communal Speeder Bike’ Skywalker, who you’ve spent the past few months sleeping so intertwined with that an outside observer would have trouble telling where one of you ends and the other begins, nervous about the fact that he’s got his hand on your dick.

”Wedge?” he prompts, the nerves becoming even more pronounced. And well, maybe you’ve given him reason to be nervous. Not for himself, but for you. You’re no innocent, far from actually, but it’s probably glaringly obvious at this point that you’ve got at least some moderate intimacy issues. The two of you have never talked about what goes on in the bunk beyond Luke checking in with you occasionally to make sure you’re okay with it. You’ve never told him where the line is, and he’s worried about crossing it.

Hells, you’re not even sure where the line _is._ All of it stopped being about body heat a long time ago, and you’re not sure what it is now. But you’re pretty damn sure that you want it, whatever it is.

You’ve been silent too long. Luke starts to remove his hand, but you stop him with your own over his. Your other hand reaches up and behind you, sliding into his hair as you crane your neck to look back at him. He’s holding his breath, his pupils dilated, and you swallow hard. “It’s fine.” And you kiss him.

The kiss is awkward and sloppy, which is expected, considering the angle. But it’s also _strange,_ for a variety of reasons. First, it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed a man. Luke’s lips are thinner than you’re used to, chapped from the cold and wind. It’s been a few days since he’s shaved, and you finally understand the complaint about beard burn.

Second, Luke tastes so _different_ to anyone you’ve ever kissed before. The inside of his mouth is simultaneously sweet and spicy, and you know there’s no fucking way it has anything to do with the bland rations the Alliance feeds its soldiers. If anything, they’re covering up the taste that you figure must be just _Luke,_ and the thought makes you kiss him harder, trying to seek out more of it.

Third, you know for a fact that you’ve never been kissed as earnestly as Luke is kissing you now. You’re used to needy, to teasing, to hard and desperate. But you’ve never experienced the sort of _want_ that Luke kisses you with. Like he’s trying to crawl inside you rather than devour you. Oh sure, it’s hungry, but it’s kissing for the sake of kissing, rather than just one step before the next to get down to business. Even as your cock is starting to harden against his hand, he doesn’t move it, all of his focus on exploring your mouth the way he’s been exploring your body for the past few months.

His intent takes your breath away, and without realizing it, you’re gasping his name into his mouth.

As though he’d been waiting for your signal, his hand finally begins to move, massaging you through your underwear for a moment, then sliding beneath the fabric to properly grab your cock. You turn your head away from him and _moan,_ loud enough that you’d be embarrassed if you had the presence of mind to be so. It’s been awhile for you; hard to go out and find a hook up when you’re far more content to spend your nights tangled in your CO.

Luke pushes your underwear down your hips just enough for convenience, and he begins stroking you at a steady tempo, letting your hips rock you into his fist. You can feel his dick, ferrocrete hard, bumping against your backside. The thought makes your throat tighten, but at the same time you reflexively grind back into him.

The movement causes him to groan open mouthed against the back of your neck. “Fuck, _Wedge.”_ The rolling in your stomach tightens at the sound of him saying your name like _that,_ and you grip his hair tighter in response. Luke’s hand that isn’t jerking you off pushes your shirt up your chest, and when he pinches your nipple, you moan loudly again. You can feel him grinning behind you.

It’s just a handjob, but somehow you think you’re more aroused than you’ve ever been, just a step down from writhing against him, and making noises that can only be described as wanton. Even taking into account adolescent boredom, Luke is far better at this than he has any right to be. The pressure and way he twists his wrist while stroking you is _just_ right, and the contrast of the slow way he plays with your nipple, the way he kisses and mouths at your neck, will have you coming before long.

When he bites at the nape of your neck, only just hard enough to make you swear and buck into his hand -- so sue you, you like a touch of rough -- you decide to stop being a passive participant. You swat his hand away, but roll over before he can pull back. You grab his face and kiss him, hard, doing your best to return the heat and want he’d kissed you with.

His hand slips down the back of your underwear this time, firmly grabbing your ass to pull you closer, while simultaneously rocking against you. The foreign feeling of his clothed cock sliding against the crease of your pelvis makes you gasp, and you pull back to look at his face. And what you see there makes the feeling in your stomach jump straight up into your throat.

Luke has always been easy to read. He wears his emotions directly on his sleeve. But you don’t think you’ve ever seen an expression so open, so _honest,_ as the way he’s looking at you right now. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone _want_ you the way he does right in this moment.

You’ve forgotten how to breathe.

When he kisses you this time, it’s slow, gentle even. His hand slides from your ass down your thigh, pulling your underwear along with it. Once you’ve managed to kick them off with his help, he grabs your leg and pulls it over his hip, opening you up in a way you’ve never been before.

It makes sense. Because this is Luke fucking Skywalker, who managed to crawl under your skin and inside of you without you even realizing it. That stomach churn you’ve been feeling for months has his name written all over it.

He sets the pace, slowly rocking against you, and you rock back. It’s never been like this before. Normally once things start, the pace stays up, the intensity just building and building until release. But Luke took you up a mountain only to guide you back down into a valley, giving you a moment to breathe before starting back up again.

But you’re eager for the climb; the way he’s looking at you is almost too much for you to handle in this moment. You kiss him hard and pull at his shirt, wanting it off _now._ You don’t want any barriers between the two of you. You want to make him feel the way he’s been making you feel. So once his underwear and both of your shirts are gone, you tangle your legs with his and thrust against him, groaning at the feeling of skin against skin.

You’ve never handled someone else’s cock before, but you know yours like the back of your hand, and hope that what works for you works for him. You press your palm against his mouth, and it only takes him a second to realize what you want. He laves his tongue against your hand, and you shiver at the thought of what that tongue could do elsewhere. Next time.

Force, you hope there’s a next time.

Once your hand is decently moist, you bring it down to clumsily wrap it around both of your cocks. The girth of the two of you together is a bit much for one hand, but as always, Luke comes to your rescue. He unceremoniously spits into his own hand -- saliva really is a terrible lubricant, but it’s enough for now. He wraps his hand around yours, and the two of you work together, tandem as always, as perfect wingmen, working yourselves as you work each other.

At this point, you’re not so much kissing as just breathing into each other’s mouths, sharing the air from your lungs. He comes first, whispering your name against your lips, and you respond with a groan of “Luke, _fuck, Luke,”_ before likewise hitting your release. He kisses you through your orgasm, squeezing you just enough for pleasant after shudders of borderline overstimulation.

You both fumble lazily for one of your discarded shirts to clean yourself with, then banish it to the frozen wasteland of the floor. Luke wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly, your foreheads pressed together. You settle against him, but don’t open your eyes, not sure you want to see what’s waiting there in his face.

You just fucked your commanding officer. Not that you really think of him as such; to you he’s just _Luke._ The Hero of Yavin, sure, but you were there with him. You prefer that most people forget that, but Luke remembers more than the fact that you bugged out of the trench. He was the one who ordered you out, and you followed that order; not for your own safety, but for his, your damaged X-wing a threat to the Alliance’s last chance to blow the Death Star. He remembers you having the new kid’s back throughout the dogfight, tells you that you were the only reason he even got down into the trench. While you look away, pretending that you don’t hear the word _‘coward’_ any time anyone mentions Yavin.

You were bonded before you knew anything about each other beyond your names.

You just fucked Luke. You just fucked a _man,_ but that’s not something you’re entirely ready to unpack yet. And you didn’t even really fuck, just kissed and jerked each other off. Yet, this was easily the most intimate sexual experience you’ve ever had.

With Luke. A man. Who is _Luke._ Your brain keeps circling back on that fact. And fuck if you don’t feel amazing about it.

He’s probably looking at you. You can feel his hand on your face, fingers cupping around the back of your neck while his thumb swipes softly beneath your ear. It’s a gesture that you’d normally describe as ‘loving,’ but you don’t think you can face that yet. So you keep your eyes closed.

But this time, you don’t wait for him to ask. Instead, you reach up to put your hand over his, pressing his warm fingers tighter against your skin. You doubt you’ll ever be cold again. “It’s fine.”

You pause.

”More than fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I meant to delve a lot more into thoughts and feelings on both Wedge and Luke's sides, but porn overtook it. Which is extra hilarious, because this is the first real smut I've ever written?
> 
> Rediscovering some of my favorite characters. Thanks for indulging me <3


End file.
